Walk in the Snow
by lamentomori
Summary: Recovering from the edge of death is a slow process, but having a family who love and support you helps. Warnings: Sequel to Chasing the Wind, it is highly recommended that you read it first. Rating for themes. 2nd person Colt PoV, AU, Slash (Colt/Punk), Mild and infrequent profanity, Mentions of eating disorders and child abuse, loads of fluff, OC.


Warnings: Sequel to _Chasing the Wind, _it is highly recommended that you read it first. 2nd person Colt PoV, AU (heavily AU, no wrestling, the S.E.S is a real cult) slash (Colt/Punk), mild and infrequent profanity, mentions of eating disorders (anorexia), loads of fluff, OC.

* * *

The trip home, back to the Society building, was quiet. He sat staring out of the window, thin fingers twisting the loose threads at the end of your scarf, braiding them, only to separate them out once more.

"You okay?" It feels like a painfully stupid question, and you expect him to turn to you with contempt in his eyes, but he shakes his head and laughs softly.

"No." He sounds very quiet, a little wispy still, and _nervous_, horribly nervous. He looks at you with worry in his eyes. He almost looks scared, and you frown, pulling over, parking on the side of the quiet country road. "Why've you stopped?" He definitely looks scared now. You turn to him fully, and take his hands in your own.

"What's up?" You stroke over his knuckles, so far beyond proud that whilst they're still too prominent, they don't stick out as much, that his hands, whilst still thin and fragile, are stronger, sturdier, like all of him really. He's still so thin, but he's getting better. He's just a little too thin, not emaciated and on a tightrope between life and death anymore. He's getting there, it'll be hard work, but he'll get there. One day he'll be better, you just have to take this one-step at time, remember not to rush him, let him get better at his own pace. His fingers tangle with your own, and he smiles down at the little knot of digits.

"I'm scared." he says softly, clearing his throat. A sudden mixture of pride and concern come over you, pride that he's willing to admit his fear, and concern that he's scared in the first place. "It'll be easy to fade away again... So easy to go back to how I used to be when I get home... I don't..." He sighs, trailing off, looking out the window once more.

"You don't?" You prompt him, hoping he'll keep going, keep explaining. It's another big change in him you're grateful for, this willingness to explain, to help you understand the why of his actions. You're not sure if it's something the hospital taught him, or if it's something he's decided, but ever since you went to him with your head shaved, told him that you would _always _see him, he's opened up to you, has taken you further into his confidence. He had you marked as his _partner_ on his medical insurance, has had you marked that way for a _long_ time, but you'd never felt like that. Now though, now you've no doubts that partner is the only word for what's between you, you're in this together and that's all there is to it.

"I don't want to go back." He tugs on your hands, pulling you closer to him, his forehead resting against your own. "I want to go forward. The wind has to keep moving, right?" You're too close to really see it, but can hear the little smile in his voice.

"Damn right, Punkers." You mutter, pressing a very soft, very small kiss to his lips, not entirely certain he'll be okay with that yet. He's let you kiss his head, hold him, stroke his fingers, but you've not been more intimate than that, haven't _kissed_ since long before he went to hospital. He makes a very soft little noise and chases your lips when you try to break the kiss. His tongue swipes over your lips and for the first time in far too long, you kiss him properly. He tastes exactly the way he always has, clean, pure, and utterly addictive. When he stops kissing you, there's a big smile on his face, and a soft hazy look in his eyes. "It's okay to be scared." You tell him, stroking his cheek gently. "I'm terrified." He frowns, and you grin at him. "But we're together... We can be scared together." He nods, and a little smile bleeds over his lips, a timid fragile little smile.

"Kay... Take me home, Colt."

The first time it really occurs to you that having him home, that being part of the S.E.S. is your life, is when the cops who dragged you there once arrive with some drunk suspended between them. You and Punk had taken over for the night, letting Serena and Luke skulk off to bed, it was late, or early depending on your point of view, and it'd been a relatively quiet night. Tuesdays are generally fairly tame, most people still getting used to being back at work, so there's not too many late night arrivals.

"Knock, knock. You guys awake?" One of the officers shouts through the letterbox, and you get up off the couch, leaving Punk curled up, engrossed in the shitty made for TV movie that's playing. The few patients still awake are sitting engrossed in a never-ending card game, you think they've been there playing the same game for four days.

"Evening Officer." You greet the bedraggled pair of Policemen with a smile, eyeing the drunken man between them cautiously.

"Room for one more at the inn?" The second officer grins and you nod vaguely, letting them in.

"Plenty of room, take your pick on where to put him." It doesn't surprise you when they pick dorm one, it's closest after all.

"So, you still on your own Colt, or is Punk home finally?" The first officer asks, trailing along behind you to the kitchen, knowing that you'll be more than willing to offer them coffee and a doughnut before letting them off back out into wild.

"I'm home." Punk's already there, pouring out four cups, the doughnut box open on the table. The officer stares at him, a smile on his face. The second cop wandering in having visited the bathroom.

"Punk, finally fucking back I see? Good, was thinking your scrawny ass was dead." He grabs his cup of coffee from the counter, taking a seat and fishing out one of the doughnuts. Punk smiles at him awkwardly, wandering over to stand by you, his arm looping round your own, his head resting on your shoulder.

"Nope, you're stuck with my scrawny ass for a _long_ time." You're quite certain that comment was directed at you as much it was the cop, and as you press a kiss to his head, you can't help but feel happy about that.

The first time you realised it wasn't all going to be smooth sailing was at a routine monthly visit to the doctor, and they told you that he'd lost weight rather than gained it. You've seen many expressions on his face, but the almost crippling embarrassment and shame that comes over him then makes you want to cry. He doesn't speak the whole journey home, doesn't say anything, just goes to the office and starts working. A nervous looking Serena trails along after you, but you ignore her, ignore everyone and leave. There's a strange anger inside you, anger that he's not doing better, it's been months since he's been home and he's _still_ not better, still too thin, still so closed off at times. You almost wish you'd never left your comfortably easy life, your life without him, whilst boring was easy. It wasn't filled with drunks, drug addicts, and strange, delicately strong creatures that drift through your mind like a cool breeze. Your life before he was yours was worthless, aimless, without purpose, now you have him, you have your work for the Society, you have passion, and he refuses to be better. You end up jogging round the park for a long time, putting off going home; putting off seeing him until you're certain you can look at him without trying to shake some sense into him.

"I'm sorry." He's leaning against a tree, wearing one of your sweaters, looking thin and tired. You stare at him, and he steps closer to you. "I'm sorry... I... I'm sorry." He won't look at you, and you're almost grateful for that fact, you're not sure what expression your face is wearing. Your anger hasn't abated in the least, but you don't think you're angry with him, you think you're more angry with yourself for expecting too much from him. The doctors have all told you that there will be downs to go with the ups. This is a down, that's all.

"It's okay." You wrap your arms around him, and he shakes his head.

"No. No, it's not... I should-"

"It'll be okay." You interrupt him, knowing nothing he says will be good. "What happened?" There's something in his tone that gives him away, he knows what he did or more likely didn't do to lose weight rather than gain it, as he should.

"You were away." He says quietly, and that's true enough, most of the month you'd been away with other members, helping them set up other buildings in different cities, but you'd called every night, you'd asked him if he'd eaten, and he'd always said yes. You don't think he'd outright lie to you but maybe he did. "I was busy... Worked through meals, and I... I guess everyone's still used to me not eating with them." He mutters softly, and you wrap him up tight, holding him close, your anger vanishing, blown away on the breeze.

"I'll remind them to get you next ti-"

"No." He pulls back from you, something fiercely determined in his eyes, his lips set in a thin line. "I don't want people treating me like I'm sick, like I can't take care of myself." He sighs, rubbing at his temples carefully. "I'm not and I can... I just..." You catch his chin and turn his face back towards you.

"Just?" You prompt him carefully, hoping there's more to this, that he's going to rationalise this some more for you, so you can understand where he's going with this.

"I'm gonna learn to cook." He says finally, and you stare at him, trying and failing to keep a bark of laughter back. "What?" He snaps, but a smile plays on his lips, the crinkles round his eyes deepening.

"You're going to learn to cook?" You take his hand and start walking home, stroking his thin fingers gently.

"If I'm cooking there's no way anyone will let me forget, right?" He smiles over at you, and you laugh at him, pulling him closer and kissing the top of his head.

"I'll try and teach you... But I'll google somewhere you can learn, just in case."

It turns out he's a good little cook, much to your and everyone else's surprise. He's no talent for baking but actually cooking, with pots, pans and gleefully guesstimated measurements, he's incredibly good. It took no time at all for him to be forced into being in charge of almost every meal for the entire building. That one blip, that one appointment where he lost when he should have gained, is the only one, every other he puts a little more on, and the awful expression he wore that day is confined to your memories, instead he wears a quietly smug look of satisfaction, and you find that you adore that expression.

He's been home a year, not long by any stretch of the imagination, but long enough for a routine to have been established, long enough for most everyone to get used to having him back, having him getting better, being more like himself. It's a relief that he's still getting better, still recovering, but you worry about him chronically, worry about him slipping back into his old ways, worry that your worrying will facilitate him, worry that something will happen, or won't happen. You worry far more than is necessary, because he's getting better. It's a slow process, some days are better than others, but he's getting there, and that's the important thing to remember. One day he'll be there, were ever this arbitrary goal of _there_ is. For the anniversary of him being home, you arranged a day off for and took him out. You took him to that vegan place you'd once tried to tempt him with pizza from. He finally ate that pizza, and washed it down with Pepsi from a wine glass, laughing when you produced the pair of glasses you'd saved from your old apartment. It was that night you finally made love to him again, that night that you revelled in him once more, that night was possibly the single greatest moment of your life, solely behind the first time you saw him, and the first time you kissed.

You're walking home, a load of grocery shopping in tow. It's fall, growing more and more cold, the clouds in the sky heavy with more rain, and all you want to do is get home to the Society building. It'll be far too warm because Serena worries about Punk getting sick and he'll be complaining about the amount of money that's being spent on heating costs as he goes around turning down all the thermostats, not noticing Luke following behind him, turning them back up. You're fairly certain that Luke is considering proposing to Serena, you've heard him talking to Punk, all low and quiet about licenses and rings. It certainly sounded like marriage discussions. You think a wedding would probably be fun, if nothing else it'd make a change to see Serena in something other than cheap black clothes and sneakers.

"I'm sorry!" The voice piercing the quiet from the alleyway is tiny and frightened, obviously the voice of a child. You hear the sound of something colliding with some trashcans, and you turn down the alleyway. There's a man standing over scattered trash, his shoulders heaving, mumbling curses. A tiny figure carefully starts picking itself up out of the garbage. The man raises his hand, and without really thinking, you grab his wrist, ducking the sloppily thrown follow-up punch and kneeing him in the gut. The man makes an odd wounded noise and wrenches his wrist free, scarpering down the alleyway, leaving you staring down at a dirty looking little girl.

"Hey..." You start and she suddenly flings herself at you, sobbing frantically. "Okay... It's... Uh..." You're not very good at being comforting, but you try the best you can, trying very hard to not think of the last time you held a sobbing female. That night in the hospital is something you avoid thinking about at all costs. Eventually she calms down enough for you to stand, her arms still wound around your neck, her little legs clinging round your waist. "How bout a piggyback? I gotta carry all this stuff." You ask her keeping your voice as kind and calm as you can. She nods softly, squirming round to your back. You grab the groceries and start for home, trying to keep a cheerful running commentary on what's going on, trying to ignore the occasional sobs leaving the little girl clinging to you.

"Where the hell were you?" Punk pokes his head out of the office door, and stares as you walk past him. "You have a child on your back." He comments mildly, taking some of the groceries from you barely struggling with the weight, a smile forms on your lips as he sets the bags down on the big table in the kitchen, and starts putting things away. Not so long ago, he'd have been only able to carry half of what he took from you, slowly he's getting stronger, slowly he's getting healthy and you love watching these little changes, these little indications that he's getting there.

"I know." You set the rest of the shopping down and begin to help him. "You eaten yet?" Your hand cups his cheek absently, your thumb stroking over his lips. Every third Sunday in the month you take off, granted you both generally don't leave the building but you don't really get involved in the running of it, leaving it to Luke and Serena, returning the favour by letting them take the first Sunday off.

"Was waiting for you to get home." He shrugs, nipping at your thumb, and finishing up with the groceries. "So, you gonna feed me?" He asks, hopping up to sit on the counter, a grin on his face, You can feel the little girl's chin dig into your shoulder, you imagine she's looking at him, the grin on his face doesn't waver, instead it seems to get bigger, so you suppose he's trying to appear friendly and nonthreatening.

"What you want?" You ask, wandering over to fridge, wondering how you're going to persuade the little girl to get off of you.

"Make me a sandwich like a good wife." He laughs, you hear him hop off the counter, leaving the room, and shake your head.

"_He's silly._" The little girl whispers very softly, and you nod. _Silly_ is perhaps one of the most unexpected words for Punk you've ever heard, but it's true enough, he can be very silly.

"Whom are you calling silly, little kitty?" Punk laughs; the little girl makes a soft squeak of a noise, and clings tighter to you as you finish hauling the salad and tuna out of the fridge. He's a soft spot for tuna salad, and all kids like tuna, at least you think they do.

"I heard there was a kid on Colt's back." Serena appears from seemingly nowhere, a grin on her face. "Oh for the love... _Men_. C'mere sweetie, let's get you cleaned up a little." She takes the little girl from your back, leaving you and Punk alone. You're surprised that she let Serena take her so easily, but she's got a way with kids, rather like Punk, children just seem to trust them.

"Where did you find her?" He asks you, snagging a slice of chopped tomato, nibbling on it without paying attention, and certainly not noticing the grin on your face. It probably should be something you're less happy about, but watching him swipe little bits of food to eat here and there still makes you unreasonably happy.

"An alleyway, little ways down the street." You frown, slicing the lettuce. "There was a guy..."

"That where she got those bruises?" Punk asks, swiping some more tomato, a frown on his face.

"Uh-huh... I... She's gonna need to stay here, well... Tonight at least." You mutter buttering a couple of slices of bread, and starting to assemble a sandwich.

"Yup... That ones her's." Punk pecks you on the cheek and wanders off, purpose behind his strides. You're almost glad for finding that little girl, he seems motivated and focussed, he's always at his most beautiful when he's driven.

The little girl comes back in on her own and takes a seat at the table, you can feel her eyes on you, can almost hear her panicking.

"So where's Serena?" You ask her carefully, setting a sandwich down front of her.

"The lady?" She says very quietly, not looking up from the plate in front of her, she looks a little cleaner, but she needs new clothes, a good shower, some sleep and by how thin and light she felt, a lot of food. "The other man sent her out shopping." She mutters. "Is this for me?" She asks you, still timid and scared, still almost shaky.

"Course it is." Punk flops down in a chair opposite the little girl, a lazy smile on his lips, but by the look in his eyes, you know he's thinking, planning. You wouldn't be surprised if Luke had been sent out to track down the man who put the bruises on the little girl.

"I... Thank you." She still is so very quiet and wispy sounding. Her tone reminds you of Punk's over a year ago, of him lying skeletal thin in a hospital bed, his hair fine and lank scattered on stark bed linen the same colour as his skin. You close your eyes and shake the image away, instead focussing on the way he looked in bed this morning, the blankets bundled around him, his arms wrapped around one of your own, a soft little smile on his sleeping face. The difference is night and day, he's getting there, he's getting better.

"So, little kitty... What's your name?" Punk asks the little girl, watching her calmly as she sits picking the vegetables out of her tuna salad sandwich. You set Punk's down in front of him, and he catches your wrist. _Milk_ He mouths at you, and you nod, pouring three glasses, setting them on the table, one specifically in front of the little girl. She drinks it down quickly, wiping her mouth with her dirty sleeve. You refill the glass, then settle in the chair by Punk, taking a bite of your own sandwich.

"I don't like kitties." She says nervously, eying the door, like she might bolt, and Punk laughs.

"You drink the milk and eat the fish... Classic kitty traits, wouldn't you say Colt?" He grins over at you, and you nod trying to look serious, but inside you're beyond amused, the little girl has an impossibly cute angry expression on her face, irritation replacing her fear.

"Indeed, Punkers." You take another bite of your sandwich, watching as Punk nibbles on his, distracted by the little girl.

"I'm a girl, not a kitty!" She looks slightly annoyed, her face set in some too old, too hard expression.

"Little girls eat vegetables." You tell her with a shrug. Her little eyes grow round and she starts eating the salad she'd picked out, watching both you and Punk warily, as though expecting some kind reprisal for refusing her greens.

"Tabitha." She says once she's finished eating. "My name's Tabitha." She holds out a little hand to shake, and Punk accepts it, then looks at you pointedly, you shake her hand, mildly bewildered by the gravity of the whole situation.

"Tabby..." Punk smirks at her, and her eyes narrow.

"Like a kitty?" You grin at him, and he laughs, the little girl frowning.

"You're mean." She snaps, polishing off her second glass of milk.

"No, I'm Punk." He smiles at her, and a strange look, something like awe comes over her face.

"_You're_ _Punk_?" She whispers, her eyes impossibly wide. "You're the one that's supposed to help Ami, I mean mommy..." She stares at him, and you see something in Punk change, his shoulders setting, you can _hear_ the cogs in his brain turning even quicker.

"Colt." You point to yourself, and the little girl nods vaguely, still focussed on Punk. "What's your surname Tabby-Cat?" She turns to you, a little frown on her face.

"Brown... Why?" She looks suspiciously at you, and you shake your head, refilling her milk glass, and going to fetch the box of Oreo cookies you know Luke has stashed in the back of one cupboard. Tabitha looks at them like they were manna from heaven, and you grin back at her.

"Ami Brown? I know that name..." Punk mutters, snagging a cookie, and leaves the kitchen. You can't help but glance at his plate, your heart filling with joy seeing it empty. It might be a year since he left that hospital, but seeing him eat properly still makes you stupidly happy.

"You two married?" The little girl asks suddenly, around a mouth full of cookie. You laugh and shake your head, swallowing to answer her properly.

"No, not married." If you could marry him, you would though, your wind being legally yours is something you'd love to be able to claim, but you've no idea what he'd make of it. It might make him feel trapped, might scare him, make him want to fade away again. Tabitha looks at you, all narrow eyed suspicion, but says nothing, just keeps eating her cookie.

"Sheesh, you would not believe the queue at the store." Serena finally comes back, bags in her hands, and harried look on her face. "Did they feed you something that isn't cookies?" She squats down in front of the little girl, a look of concern on her face. Tabitha nods, and sips at her milk. "Good. Here, the receipt for the books." She slides a long strip of paper over to you. "Where's Punk?" She looks worried.

"Right here." He sits down, a case file in his hands. "You get something nice for the kitty-cat to wear?" Tabitha scowls at him, her tongue poking out in Punk's direction.

"Kitties are your favourite?" Serena sounds worried. "If I'd known, I'd have gotten something else." She sighs, and snags a cookie from the pack. "I went with the traditional girl colours of black and pink." She winks at Tabitha and the little girl grins, but the look fades painfully quickly.

"You shouldn't have, I..." Something very sad settles in her eyes, and your heart clenches, no child should ever look like that.

"Lemme see." Punk grabs the clothes bag from Serena and peeks inside. "Hmm, very nice... I might just keep this." The little girls snorts at him.

"You can't fit girl clothes." She springs to her feet, trying to peek in the bag Punk is clutching to his chest.

"Could too." He snaps back, a grin on his face. You swallow heavily, and take a drink from your glass, a year ago he probably could wear children's clothes, a year ago you were convinced you were going to lose him, and now he's teasing children, eating Oreo cookies and looking better, so much better, almost _well_.

"You're too tall." She stamps her foot, and you can't help the laugh the escapes you, you're mournfully reminiscing on when they'd fit his waist, and the fact he is and was always too tall hasn't escaped the notice of little Tabitha. Punk turns to you, an indignant expression on his face. You shrug and snatch the bag from him.

"Here you go, Tabby-Cat." You hold the bag out to her and she grins, taking it from you.

"_You're supposed to be on my side._" Punk loud whispers in your ear and you shrug at him, pecking his nose.

"Sorry, sweetie, next time I promise I'll help you be mean to kittens." You laugh and he sighs dramatically. Tabitha looks at you both, torn between being annoyed at being referred to as a cat again, and looking smug that you are at least together if not married.

"So did I do a good job?" Serena asks, crouching down by the little girl. You smile at them, and start gathering the dishes. Punk joins you at the sink, watching the reflection of Serena and Tabitha in the window. The pair giggling over the clothes Serena had bought. "Right, let's get you properly clean." Serena picks the little girl, and tosses her over her shoulder easily; it always surprises you how strong she is. Serena might look like a slender delicate woman, but she's undeniably strong, rather like Punk, delicate and frail though he may be, he's still the strongest person you've ever met, a different strength to Serena's, but strength nonetheless.

That night, as you're lying in bed, his head resting on your chest, he seems restless, distracted, like his mind is in a thousand places but where his body is.

"You okay, Punkers?" You tilt his face up to you, and he nods.

"Her mother... She was referred three months ago, but no showed..." He sighs, and moves so that he's lying beside you, rather than on top of you. "I remember cause of the little girl. She's six Colt, six years old... Her mother's a drug addict, heroin... Prostitutes herself." He sighs again and you turn to lie on your side, drawing him to you. "Kitty-Cat's been in and out of hospital, all on medi-care, broken this, broken that, suspected sexual assault."

"_Fuck_." You mutter, pulling him closer, kissing the stubble on his head, stroking his back, grateful as ever that you can't feel every single knob of his spine in stark relief, he's still thin, but there's something to him now.

"Child Protection has recommended removing her a thousand times, but something always happens." You kiss his head again, and he pulls back from you, his eyes burning with determination. "She needs help, Colt." You nod vaguely. "Kids need a family." You nod again, stroking his cheek.

"They do." You agree with him, though perhaps you don't quite have his determination to make sure that every child he encounters is made happier for his existence. You remember a night, maybe seven months ago, when you lay curled around each other like this, talking. That night he told you about his childhood, told you that he started the _tutoring_ scam to make money for college, because his alcoholic father and prescription drug addicted mother hadn't any for him. He'd had to do everything for himself from far too young, had been essentially an afterthought to his elder brother, and his parents addictions. The whole story had merely confirmed how precious he is to you, how utterly vital he is to your existence, and how the vast majority of his life has been spent struggling. Now that you have him, you've sworn to take as much of that struggle from him as you can, you want to make the load in his shoulders as light as possible.

The next morning it was decided that the cops should be contacted, someone had to be looking for this little girl, but really, you're certain that the people who should be looking for her wouldn't give much of a damn. One of them, the man you'd rescued her from, had most likely had an unfortunate accident and was possibly in hospital, unless Luke had some other reason to have his knuckles wrapped. He'd looked grimly pleased with himself as he'd told Punk about the new arrivals last night at the breakfast table, sitting with the little book logging every visitor to the Society between them.

You're engaged in a lengthy game of scrabble with an elderly lady who's recovering from years of alcohol, and marital abuse when Tabitha flings herself into your lap. You get the feeling you might have to get used to that with her.

"_Too big... Too big... Too big_." She whispers over and over, shivering slightly.

"We've got a little one now?" The lady says softly, and you nod.

"Arrived last night. Hey, Tabby-Cat, what's up?" You murmur softly rocking her gently. She's still shaking, and the old lady just played on a triple word's score. "Aww, c'mon! I'm distracted. Go easy on me." You mutter and she laughs, jotting down her score. "What's too big?" You turn your attention back to Tabitha. "Is it a bug? Punk gets scared of bugs too. Once I chased him round the yard with this big fake spider. He was shrieking like banshee."

"What's a banshee?" Tabitha's voice is back to that far too soft tone, and you laugh softly, the little girl staring up at you.

"It's a kind of lady monster." The old lady says, a laugh in her tone.

"_Really?_" Tabitha looks at you, and you nod, letting her shift so that she's sitting on your lap facing the old lady and your letter tiles.

"So what's too big?" You ask her, pointing out the letters you want on the board and where you'd like them to go. Tabitha does as you ask, and fishes out some replacements for you.

"There's... There's a _man_." She says softly. "He was too big... _Scary_." Her voice is almost a whisper.

"Did he have a hat on?" She nods, a tight quick little gesture. "A beard too?" Another nod and you point to some more letters, letting her place the word on the board.

"Really bad tattoos?" The old lady asks, still smiling at Tabitha, and the little girl giggles as well as nods. "Luke. He might look scary, sweetie, but he's a big old teddy bear, just you ask little Serena." She winks, and places her letters down. "She's got him all tied up in knots." The old lady smiles fondly, and stands. "Well, I'm gonna be wasting Punk's time if I don't go see him now. Why don't you take over my side of the board little miss?"

"Tabitha." The little girl holds her hand out, you get the feeling that this politeness wasn't trained in her, it's just something naturally and inherently her, it reminds you a great deal of yourself when you had to meet new clients, all polite handshakes and glib charm. There's a little part of you that's mildly concerned that you're seeing your own traits in a little girl you just met. By the end of the scrabble game, you see a lot of Punk's traits in her too, both of them horribly competitive and far too good with words.

The mother of Tabby is tracked down eventually, the Child Protection people seem torn between wanting her to go home and her to stay with the Society. You've no idea if it's a particularly healthy environment but Tabby seems more than attached to Punk, she trails after him like a little lost sheep, seemingly more than content to spend time in his company. She's definitely fond of you, more often than not she clings to you in some way, the only person who spends more time in your lap is Punk, though to be fair, they're the only people who spend any time in your lap. She adores Serena, spends as much time in the kitchen baking cakes with her as possible, she's even warming to Luke, or at least not running and hiding whenever she sees him. You think her grades are getting better too, if nothing else you've noticed several 100% test papers pinned amongst the drawings in the office. So perhaps, there's something to be said for the idea of letting the little stray stay at with the Society.

"We should do Christmas." Punk says softly, nuzzling at your throat. "Presents, lights, a tree... We can get Luke to be Santa." You nod vaguely, your hand cradling the back of his head as he worries a mark on your neck, not really paying attention to his words, just letting his soft voice wash over you.

"Wait... _Christmas?_" You're surprised, he's an atheist, you're nominally Jewish, Christmas isn't something either of you celebrate.

"Uh-huh, it'll be nice... Good for Kit-Kat." He pulls back from you, moving to straddle your prone body, and pulls his shirt over his head. He's _still_ a little on the skinny side, but he's impossibly beautiful, the brightness of the ink over his chest, the high curve of the _straight edge_ beneath his ribcage, the soft pale tan of his skin stretched over his taut form. Your wind is beautiful, almost painfully so.

"Well kids do like Christmas." You mutter, utterly uninterested in anything other than the sight of him unbuckling his belt and shedding his pants. Now that he's so close to being fully healed, his sexual appetite has returned tenfold, he's damn near insatiable, and you can't say you mind in the least.

The Holidays go by quickly, the whole thing spent in a strange daze. The Society building was incredibly busy over them, filled with drunks, and sobbing people. The whole time Tabby had hid upstairs, afraid to come down, terrified of the drunk people. It was then that she seemed to warm to Luke. Even the drunk think twice about messing with a man the size of Luke, and Tabby seemed to appreciate him keeping them away from her. She'd been inundated with gifts. You got the feeling her last few Christmases had been pretty terrible, but this year she did well, more gifts than she seemed able to open. You'd been uncertain of what to get Punk, had agonised over it for far too long, and when you'd given him his little gift you'd felt incredibly stupid, but he'd seemed more than pleased, had thanked you personally upstairs. The only problem with his thank you was that you're never going to be able to look at mistletoe in quite the same way again.

"Why does he look at you like that?" Tabby says quietly to Punk, and you lean against the wall just outside of the office, wondering one what she's talking about, and two how Punk will answer her.

"Like what?" His voice is quiet, distracted, which is hardly surprisingly. He'd gone to the office to work on the accounts, and you've come to help him, having left him the requisite twenty minutes for him to get frustrated with Excel and start doing the sums by hand.

"Like you're the only person in the World." Tabby sounds slightly dreamy, so much like a little girl should sound when presented with love. Punk coughs loudly, and you decide then to rescue him.

"Because for me, he is." You ruffle her hair, and smile at him, his eyes widen, a blush creeping up his neck. "Serena's looking for you Kitty-Cat." You ruffle her hair again and she turns to you with a scowl.

"No she's not. You just wanna be all kissy-face with Punk." She gathers her notebook and pencils, a frown marring her features. "Sappy." She intones solemnly, and Punk nods.

"Incredibly. Scram, Tabs. I'll come help you with English in a bit, kay?" She grins at him and bounds round the desk, hugging his still too thin arm.

"Promise?" She gazes up at him, all wide-eyed innocence, and he nods, before shooing her out of the room. You close the door behind her and smile at him. He's good with kids, doesn't treat them like idiots, instead like they're real people, albeit with smaller frames of reference so he's at least a little more indulgent of them.

"What?" He looks at you confused, and you shake your head, coming to stand behind him, staring at the computer screen, rather than the accounts spreadsheet there's a completed game of solitaire. He tilts his head back to look at you. "Well... I knew you'd do the damn things anyways." You kiss him on the nose and close the window, opening the accounts folder.

"You're not even pretending to try anymore?" You ask him, he shakes his head, standing, and taking the seat on the opposite side of the desk.

"Why bother? You do the boring stuff for me." He laughs, clearing a space on the other side of the desk. "Now quiet, I've got real work to get on with." He drags the bundle of case files over to him, no doubt working on treatment plans, and correlating case notes for the patients in the building.

"And an appointment with English homework to keep." You grin over at him, and he glances up at you, a soft little smile on his face. You know he's enjoying having a kid around; you all are to be honest. Once Child Protection make up their minds, watching your little stray kitten leave is going to be so very painful.

"Very true."

"So, Easter or Pessach?" You ask him, wrapping your arms about his waist, and he turns to you with a confused look on his face. "You're staring at the calendar and they're both coming up." He laughs, leans back in your arms and kisses your chin.

"Easter. Gotta hunt for eggs, Colt." He smiles at you and you shrug.

"I'm making unleavened bread and tell her about Egypt." You kiss his temple and he laughs again.

"What you worried we're going to raise her nominally Christian?" His hands rest on your own and you chuckle in his ear, squeezing him tightly. You're both getting too attached to little Tabitha, she's not yours, you can't keep her, one day she'll be taken away from you, but you truly don't want to see that day at all.

"This is the stupidest time to be sick." You laugh at him, and help him to sit up in bed, fluffing the pillows behind him and kiss his head softly.

"We can't choose when to get a cold, Punkers." You stroke his cheek and perch on the edge of the bed, catching his hand, stroking it lightly.

"Stupid cold. I hate being ill." He grumbles, grabbing a tissue from the box on the nightstand and blowing his nose, tossing the soiled paper at the trash. "Stupid cold, I feel like I'm dying, Colt. _Dying_!" He whines, and you laugh, before pulling him close to you. He's not dying, you've watched him dying, watched him hovering between life and death, this isn't it, this is a cold. "Sorry..." He mutters, his voice small. "I'm a dramatic invalid." He nuzzles at your throat carefully, and pulls away, withering into a coughing fit.

"Sis said you were sick!" There's a flurry of movement, and a blur of black and pink lands on the bed beside Punk. Tabby looks up at him with worry on her face, her little hand rests on his forehead, and her frown deepens. "You're hot."

"He is." You laugh, and they both look at you disapprovingly.

"Not the time, mister." Tabby says sternly, and you nod, pulling your best contrite face.

"Sorry ma'am." You mutter, making Punk try to laugh and cough at the same time. Tabby frowns at him, and then turns to you, her best stern face on, looking ridiculously cute.

"Get this man some soup, stat!" You get off the bed with a vague salute, pretending not to notice as Tabby climbs under the covers and snuggles up to Punk, your only hope is that she doesn't catch his cold. You don't think you could deal with them both being sick at once.

"Uh... Colt, Punk?" Tabby comes nervously into the office, wringing her hands in her sleeves and fidgeting.

"What is it, Tabby-Cat?" You ask her, picking her and setting her on your knee, feeling her settle down a little, and look a little less nervous. She sets an envelope on the table in front of Punk, leaning back against your chest and examining the spreadsheet on the computer screen.

"What's that?" She's entirely too inquisitive these days, but it's not something you can resent, she's more like a normal little girl, more lively, more relaxed, happier, and it makes you so happy, so relieved that the family you, Punk and the Society have given her has helped make her this way.

"Alchemy." Punk mutters, reading the contents of the envelope, an odd little expression on his face.

"Ignore him." You tell her, and click on a different tab in the spreadsheet. "It's the accounts for the Society." You tell her, and she twists to look at you.

"Accounts? Like how much moneys we have and how much we spend?" She a clever kid, and based on the way she starts cautiously typing at the spreadsheet, much better at maths than Punk.

"Not bad, Tabby-Cat." You tell her, and she turns to you with a beaming smile.

"I remembered what you taught me. My teacher was... Empressed!" She grins.

"Impressed." Punk finally tosses the envelope over to you and you flip it open, inside is a letter addressed to the _Guardians_ _of Tabitha Brown_. You read it through, feeling a frown warring with a smile. Tabby's doing incredibly well as of late, her grades have improved drastically, but the school is worried about her slipping, they want to keep her back a grade. The general message is they want you to come in for a meeting. "Do you think I've gotta wear a suit?" Punk sighs dramatically, leaning back in his chair. Tabby glances up nervously at you, and then focuses on Punk.

"You're not mad?" She sounds so very small, so very scared, and you tickle her ribs, sending her skittering away, giggling with laughter, to Punk's lap.

"Mad? Ha, top of the class in math? Fuck no!" You laugh, and she grins at you, as Punk scowls mouthing _language_ at you.

"I'm good at math." She looks so very pleased with herself, so incredibly proud, and you think she has good reason to be, but her school seem to disagree. Really you'd think that they'd realise that her pervious bad grades were because of her terrible home situation, now that she's somewhere safe, it makes sense that her grades would go up, there's no way she needs to repeat a grade.

"You are, Kit-Kat." Punk kisses her hair and sets her on the floor. "Go find Serena, she said something about sprinkles... She's very confusing..." Punk turns back to his paperwork, barely managing to hide a grin, as Tabby practically squeals and tears out of the office, calling Serena's name.

"She's gonna be too hyper to sleep if she eats any of those cupcakes, you know that right?" You smile at him, and he shrugs producing a plate with two overly frosted cupcakes on it from a drawer.

"Don't worry, I snagged the best ones."

After the meeting, Punk's shaking, literally trembling with suppressed emotion. Tabby is fidgeting, glancing up at him every so often, clinging to your hand, squeezing it nervously.

"Hey... How'd-" You shake your head at Luke and hand him some cash. You need to keep Punk occupied to let him cool down. He's in not fit state of mind to be at home right now.

"Go eat terrible food and have some fun, kay?" You tell him, crouching down in front of Tabby. "Tabby-Cat, we're gonna walk back, kay?" She looks at you with the most miserable expression you've ever seen, it makes you feel like you've been sucker punched in the gut.

"Punk's mad." She says very quietly, and you nod. Punk is mad, he's furious, but not at Tabby, at the school, at their stupidity, their arrogance, their narrow-minded self-righteousness.

"Not with you, Kit-Kat." Punk chimes in, ruffling her hair. You glance up at him, he's wearing some kind of tight, cold smile and you reach out to him, surprised when he takes your hand, his fingers squeezing your own.

"Bu-"

"No buts, Tabby-Cat. Go have fun with Brother Luke." You ruffle her hair and stand, pulling Punk closer. Tabby's expression changes, something in her seems to settle at seeing you and Punk holding hands. She always seems that little bit happier when you're touching somehow. She never looks happier than when she's sitting on the couch beside you, tucked under your arm, as Punk lies curled up with his head in your lap. For all you see her as being part of your little family, you think she sees it that way more.

"I... Okay... But, I'm relying on you to cheer him up, mister!" She grins at you, and you salute her with your free hand.

"Ma'am. C'mon you, let's go cheer you up." You start walking away, hearing the car start, and Punk digs his heels in, stopping walking to wave goodbye to them. "So Punkers, wanna go back and tear that bitch a new one?" You ask him with a grin. He turns to you, the same mischievous little grin on his face. He pulls you into a deep kiss, his arms wrapping around you, one leg around your calf.

"Thought you'd never ask, Colt."

The first thing you did when you got back to the Society building was look into adoptions. It's not something you think you'll be able to secure, but you need to know, you need to be able to confirm if it's possible. It's not encouraging but as you call an old friend, you think you might be able get something moving, something that will give Tabby the _stable home life_ that the school is convinced you, Punk and the Society could never give her.

It's a few days after the meeting with the school that you broach the subject with Punk, lying in bed with him cuddled up to you, you hand running down his bare back, both of you soft and contented in the afterglow of sex. You'd casually mentioned looking into adopting Tabby, and he'd turned to look at you, his eyes wide, hope filling them. You'd tried then to not build those hopes up too much, there's a lot counting against you both, but as you'd stared into his eyes you knew even just looking into this for him was worth it.

Your friend, and you use the term loosely, had mentioned that if there was some binding legal commitment between you both, your case for adoption would be stronger. Punk has stared at you thoughtfully when you'd told him, and set a small box down on the desk in front of you.

"I... I've been pussying out since winter." He says softly. "Alls we need is to go get the license and..." He trails off, looking away, discomforting oozing from him. You stare at the little box, you've a strong feeling you know exactly what's inside of it.

"Punkers... This is a _huge_ step, it's a lifelong commitment... Are you sure?" You can't look at him, transfixed by the box. You've never seen him as the type to make a commitment like this, have always seen your wind as too desperate for his own freedom, his own independence.

"You saved my life, Colt. You're everything to me... My entire World." He stands, and snags the little box, then gets down on one knee. "If it wasn't for you, I'd have faded away long ago." His voice is so very soft, and your hand cups his chin, tilting his face up to look at you. You've never fully understood just how much you mean to him until that moment, never fully comprehended the depth of his love for you in the least.

"I'll _always_ see you Punkers. You're all I'll ever see." You fish a small box of your own out of a drawer, and grin at him. "So, I guess we swap and then go get this bit of paper signed, right?" You draw him up to you, kissing him softly. "Unless you want something fancy?" You'd never considered if he'd want something big, something flashy. He doesn't seem the type but he is a romantic underneath his many layers of confusing and prickly. He shakes his head and laughs.

"I'll call about the license."

You do manage to sneak away for a few days, out to the country on something of a honeymoon, staying in a cabin by a lake, surrounded by trees.

"This... It's nice." He's lying between your legs, his head on your chest, staring out over the lake. "I... When you met me again... I was..." He sighs, and laces your fingers together, the matching little bands side by side. "I was sick when you first met me." He says softly. He's never admitted that he had been sick in the first place before now, had always maintained that his anorexia wasn't an illness but some kind of strange discipline. "It started cause there wasn't anything to eat in the first place. Then... I just wanted everyone to leave me alone, to stop staring at me, but you... You'd always be there _looking_ at me." He squirms slightly in your arms, getting more comfortable, you squeeze his fingers gently, and he raises your joined hands, kissing your knuckles. "You don't look at me like anyone else." He says softly, his breath washing over your joined hands.

"How do I look at you?" You ask him softly, and he laughs, a happy little burble of a noise.

"You look at me like the only person in the room, Scott." He turns to you, a smile on his face. "Like I'm the only person you can see, like there's no one else there... Like..." He kisses you impossibly lightly, his lips barely touching your own. "Like you love me."

"_Always_." You whisper to him, drawing him closer, kissing him more firmly, trying to affirm your love for him in this kiss.

When you get home, you throw yourself into working on the adoption, not telling Tabby, not wanting to get her hopes up. The Child Protection people have visited her several times; they've mentioned her mother, how she's getting on, never once do they say that she's asked after Tabby, never once do they say she misses her daughter. Every time they leave, Tabby ends up in the office, snuggled up in either Punk's or your arms, not speaking just sitting there, cuddling into you, like she wants to hide there forever. Once you'd come into find her and Punk fast asleep, cuddled up in a sunbeam on the comfier of the two chairs in the little cramped office. It had been a reflexive action to take a photo of them, it had been without a thought that you'd set the image as your phone's wallpaper. He's impossibly good with children, and you desperately hope you can let him keep this one. Little Tabby, she completes your strange little family and she'd be raised so well here, what with the revolving door of aunts and uncles in the roaming members, her siblings in Serena - already nicknamed Sis - and Luke playing the role of protective big brother. You've no doubt that she sees you as her father-figure, she comes to you for advice, for protection, when nightmares are too much for her, it's your side of the bed she clambers into. Punk, he's her mother, that much is obvious, and he's good at it, caring, nurturing, not afraid to scold when he as to. But at the end of the day, she's such a daddy's girl, you think with a smile, pressing a soft kiss to Punk's forehead, and then Tabby's, her lips stretching into a big smile as she wakes up and makes grabby hands at you, insisting on being picked up and cuddled properly.

Several weeks pass, the end of the school term rapidly approaching, when the letter arrives. You didn't hear the post, were busy working on more spreadsheets, puzzling over how to balance the cookie expenditure in the budget, when the still sealed envelope drops on the keyboard.

"Open it... I can't." Punk looks at you, and you push back from the desk, letting him perch on your lap. He snags the envelope and gives it to you. Inside is the date for the adoption hearing. If the judge rules in your favour, Tabby gets to stay home. Her mother hasn't put up a fight, seems to be acting as though she doesn't have a daughter at all, living her life with the same selfishly reckless abandon as always. So the chance is there, the potential to have Tabitha as your own is so tantalisingly close. "What's it say?" Punk doesn't move to look, just settles against you some more.

"You're gonna need a suit, Punkers." You tell him solemnly, and he turns to you with a grin. You grin back at him, and draw him in for a kiss. You can't help breaking it too soon though; this grin seems to be getting bigger, and bigger. You're one-step closer to having your little family legally yours and you're beyond excited.

Telling Tabby why she had to pick something nice to wear had been an interesting experience. She'd stared at you both in shock, her little face frozen and expressionless.

"My parents? You'd be my mom and dad?" She'd turned to you, her eyes wide. You'd nodded and she'd burst into tears, sobbing almost uncontrollably.

"Oh shit... Don't cry, Kit-Kat. If you don't want to stay, if you don't want this, we can stop it." Punk had sunk to his knees and hugged her close. You could hear the beginnings of tears in his voice, and you'd knelt down by them, pulling them into a tight hug.

"Nonononono... I wanna stay... I wanna stay home but... What if they don't let me?" She'd sobbed harder, and you kissed her hair softly.

"No one's gonna make you go anywhere, Tabby-Cat. Don't you worry." You stood and then critically run your eye over the nice dresses she'd miraculously acquired over her time with you. "I think the pink one with the black ribbon, right Punkers?" Punk's eyes met yours over a still sobbing Tabby's head, and he'd smiled at you, possibly the most beautiful smile you'd ever seen, all soft and warm, brimming with love. "Then the little black shoes... Maybe Serena'll do your hair. What you think, Tabby-Cat?" She'd turned to you with a teary smile, almost the same teary-eyed smile as Punk, and in that moment you were certain that if this hearing didn't go in your favour, you'd drain as much of the Society's coffers as you could appealing the decision until the right one was made.

The hearing was quick. You're grateful for that really, quick meant you didn't need to wait around too long, meant that the decision was easy. In honesty, you'd not been overly hopeful, two men over one mother, you didn't think there was a chance that the Judge would come down in your favour, but when they did, you'd been shocked enough to have to blink back tears. Tabby hadn't even bothered trying to look stoic; she'd started crying and flung herself into Punk's arms, getting picked up and cuddled close. All you'd managed to do was thank the Judge and guide your little family out of the hearing room, guide them out of the court building and down the steps to Serena and Luke as they stood by the car, looking nervous.

"Tabs?" There's so much worry in Serena's voice that you desperately want to offer her some kind of reassurance, but instead Tabby squirms out of Punk's arms and flings herself at Serena, laughing as she does so.

"I'm staying! I get to stay at home, Sis!" She's laughing so much her words are all but lost. Serena starts laughing too, spinning her round and around.

"Awesome! We can paint your room!" Serena manages between giggles, and a look comes over Luke's face making it clear that he's well aware that _we_ meant he was doing the painting. You nudge Punk's shoulder carefully, pretending not to notice him swiping at his eyes with his sleeve.

"You okay, Punkers?" You ask him quietly, watching as Luke starts chasing a giggling Tabby round the park lot, trying to get his hat back, and dodge Serena as she runs interference on Tabby's behalf.

"I'm good." Punk says just as quietly back. "I'm good." You catch his chin, turning his face towards you. His eyes are rimmed with red, but the smile on his face is breathtakingly beautiful, that same smile from earlier, a smile you think might have made you fall more in love with him.

"You want more now, don't you?" You find yourself asking him, watching as a guilty little expression crosses his face. You pull him in for a kiss, pretending very hard not to notice Tabby giggling at you both and Serena snapping a picture.

"Well... The building next door is for sale, and there's an awful lot of kids that could do with foster homes and..." He trails off, and you shake your head at him, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

"Foster?" You ask him, waving Tabby over, picking her up and getting a soppy kiss on the cheek from her.

"One kitten of our own is plenty." Punk says as he kisses Tabby's cheek and grins as Serena takes what you're certain will be the first of many family photos.

* * *

his work of fiction is by no means an attempt to belittle or misportray the serious and deadly effects of anorexia. If you or anyone you know suffers from this terrible disease, please seek appropriate medical help.

A very fluffy sequel to a very depressing fic, I remain curiously divided on the first story _Chasing the Wind_ was a huge deal for me and it's something I am at once fond of and chronically worried about.

_**Super special thanks goes to** __**J.**** Colton**_for the idea of Colt and Punk adopting a little girl. I hope this fic was worth the stupidly long wait. :)

_I really would appreciate any and all comments, thoughts, insults and contempt, as such **please**** review, **it'd mean a lot to me on this one.  
_


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